"They must be truly suicidal." Brannor snarled his words through gritted teeth as he began to push against the creaking door, magic restoring its constitution.
Wrenching his shoulder into the structure on one half and sending his chain and ornate medallion clattering against it, other arm out with palm flush to the surface, he leveraged all he could at the moment to resist the impact while planting his feet and body at an angle. If anything letting the enemy charge recklessly into the now mostly reinforced door was the best option between the gathering of soldiers present, the odd and wayward allies of Greenest, and the number of random objects that had found themselves put to work as weights and barricades. Even if the attackers broke into the port again, by some miracle of dark works, they were facing a now prepared resistance.
There was not much time to think more on the matter, not that Brannor needed or wanted to. All he could do was ready himself to strike back harder the moment opportunity presented itself.
Brannor rolls a 14 for his Athletics check to assist in securing the door to resist the charge.
The banter of those within the holding were soon enough joined by the hisses and screeches of creatures on the other side. Ramando was surprised he didn't notice, right away. Focused on holding pieces as the Halfling performed her spell. He was watching as the edges of the materials locked, formed together. Enraptured by such feats beyond himself, he hadn't been exposed to such sorcery while in the cloister. With Brannor'sir, the monk pushed his whole body against the gate, hoping the few of them could hold off against the many on the other side. If the other soldiers were wise, they would attempt to keep the gate from shattering once more, but Ramando's focus was now on the ruckus their enemies were causing. Allowing them to pass through wasn't an option. Survival of those within the Keep was his top priority.
Orchid narrowed his eyes at the sound of even more enemies approaching. Unfortunately, carving up a dragon wasn't exactly a high strength ordeal, and while he was laying out his new skin his body had started to feel the fatigue of his rage. If he had a few more minutes he could rest the fatigue away, but they didn't have minutes to spare. Instead he simply did what was easiest for him: use his strength to hold the barricade. It wasn't going to be easy in his fatigued state, but he couldn't do nothing. "Damn!"
Slammning his body against the door Orchid tried to brace himself as well as he could, but his entire body was numb, preventing him from mustering his full strength. While he was certainly giving it his all his arms were sore and between the numbness Orchid was finally starting to feel the hints of pain from the wounds over his body. Blood oozed from his wounds yet despite the pain he was still steadfast, determined not to let their hard work go to waste.
Current HP: 12/14
Athletics check to hold the door: 25/14 with disadvantage because Orchid is still recovering from his rage.
Both of the sides grunted while pushing against the door, the people outside intent on breaching the keep once more and the ones on the inside doing all they could to not let this happen. The door slowly but surely pushed inward and at it's worst point the gap between the doors was almost wide enough to swing a blade through, but then something odd happened: The power on the other side of the door lessened for a moment. It returned soon, but in that time our heroes had already pushed the doors back near to their starting point.
"This one is done, Castellan", Lake chimed in from the left side, having fixed his share of the door. The Wizard bit his lip and let some magical energy swirl around his hand. He could join in on the pushing with greater might, but on the other hand that would cost him... he might still need his powers this night. The sparks retreated, and Lake moved to observe the final moments of Parum's repairs.
As soon as Escobert and Parum had finished with their last one, a few of the guardsmen carried heavy bars and did their best to slide one of them them into place on the door. As soon as it was in place, the job of the defending side became much easier. "A'ight, finishin' touches on tha barricade..." was all that Escobert had to say when the guards were already on the move. The room was bustling with people now and given it's size it wasn't exactly a comfortable place. "Guards, make way! We are leaving!" Escobert announced, letting the castle guard take care of the situation from now on.
As soon as the group had made it out of the room, Mr. Lake excused himself and headed back into the keep. "Ya take care now!" Escobert yelled after them before addressing the temporary soldier's of the governor: "Well 'en, I would recommend ya get sum rest now too. I'll need ta get tha report as to how dem nasties actually got in in tha first place. I trust we'll see each other soon enough."
"They will find you," Xaron’s voice bellowed a hissing hurricane, whilst Torus waded, discerning and discounting the evanescent whisper from Escobert’s ruckus at the sallyport, towards the nearest corner. The sultry silhouettes of his garb sputtered as the quarterstaff’s shadow interspersed intermittently into a growing nevus, conspiring into ephemeral fractals of a cancerous gheist, all upon the wall, trailing the elder. Ebbing and flowing with each Hessdalen torch passed, the former Mezro druid, flickering with a public allegory of the cave, finally grasped his weary destination. After brushing and imploding several barren spider webs, Torus collapsed gently into a relaxed squat, knees bent parallel to the floor, eventually facing the center of the main area, plopping his large murky net of earthly treasures, next to his frail constitution and tortoise shield.
A Heraclitean sigh wrenched from his fibrillating vocal cords.
The children of Linan and Cuth noted the somber yawn. Eager, they inched apprehensively to the geezer. Reflexively, Torus sprouted, behind his neck, a thin illusion of a Blueleaf in the Nietzschean crook; the Swift brood slowly advanced. The stable still image displayed a bulbous vine tree of artificial Bodhi graffiti on the two partitions and the ceiling of the keep, surrounding his new-found navy niche. He placed his makeshift cane in front of his lap as a façade barrier between him and the approaching progeny. The blanche wood was caked with the grime of Tethyrian sin and salvation. Digging, frantically with his ivory fingers in his cache, he produced the ambrosia of his tradition, specifically four goodberries which he offered, two in each palm as a sacrifice of manna to the younger generation.
"Here, I know you are hungry, little ones. Sustenance is required during these difficult nights."
The pubescent offspring hurriedly snatched them from the stranger, learning the lessons of survival quickly from the disaster that had befell Greenest.
"Thank you, old man," mouthed the eldest of the three.
Noting the shivering of the youngest, Torus smiled, licked his lips, disclosing an ornate tongue ring, and spindled, "Huddle together. Closer. Good. Now let me tell you a tale." He dumped a waterskin, full of loose soil, before his white-fanged baton. Molding it magically, he arranged and erected a tan castle in the midst of brown rolling hills.
"In the year of the Boiling Moats, a dying king’s domain extended south as far as the Lake of the Long Arm and west as far as the Giant’s Run Mountains. Through the staple of his acres ran a sluggish stream, called Reza."
The senior slothfully emptied a different waterskin, trickling a strand of water onto the carefully crafted earthen stage, resembling a brook upon the brow of the palace. A diaspora of adults were beginning to eavesdrop on the druid’s ancient crowing.
"It was thick with mud, where local savages would form beautiful pottery for sale to Thaamadathan merchants. Their number had swelled from Low Netheril, only to suffer on the fetid fields in exchange for regular tithes to the leprous lord. In the thick heat of the late summer, a tenday deluge caused the river to overflow the banks and flood the lands." Mingling the dirt and water, a promethean pool of clay became evident in front of the children. "When the rains finally stopped, the newly formed lake began to bubble, and the savages began to moan that the ancient god, Borem, had manifested in the kingdom, depriving them of their livelihood and food."
The vesuvian puddle mystically rippled and toiled with rebellious abandon.
"Shortly thereafter, a trio of adventurers from the north appeared." He pointed to each one of the children, "A powerful warrior who wielded a simple iron blade that crackled with arcane energy, a stealthy half-elf, and a blind necromancer with a scythe embarked upon the citadel. They arrived and prostrated themselves before the king’s throne. In exchange for passage through his court, the great three of Cormanthor offered to slay the divine interloper and bear his soul away. They were soon blessed and were off. The ground itself seemed to object in their progress towards Borem’s lair, unleashing great geysers of gushing filth in their attempted trek to the ancient planar quagmire, the center of the morass."
Playful pillars tossed and turned a floundered boat miniature, with waves of sludge afore the youths. Suddenly a tsunami of muck towered, circumvented, and ensnared the enmeshed diminutive ship.
"They were snappily engulfed by molten rock,” roared Torus, seated cross-legged, his robes coalescing with the jumble. His concentration of the tiny simulacra were interrupted by the Castellan briskly scurrying through the portal of the next room, with guards, a half-orc with a draconic hide, a curious kender, a mahogany ripped monk and a strong, young man, but with idyllic golden eyes.
The dwarf beckoned. "Well 'en, I would recommend ya get sum rest now too. I'll need ta get tha report as to how dem nasties actually got 'ere in tha first place. I trust we'll see each other soon enough."
A girl from the amassed juvenile crowd, enraptured a quick retort, "What happened next, old man?"
"Yeah,” echoed the puerile Swifts in unison.
"Oh yes," giggled the druid. "Well. Nothing stirred to the horrified savages who were looking afar from their scrying ponds. They all believed doom had come to the foreigners. One. Two. Three days went by. Still nothing. Then. The messy tomb began to err crimson, thrashing to a regular rhythm, then abruptly a lanky, springing fountain was ejected. Atop the tachycardic spout, standing on a vessel, two adventurers remained with the skewered deity’s still-beating heart." The Stygian earth was conformed once more into the conclusive instance, a geometric canopy of a ziggurat on its head, with the ferry afloat the base, bearing a rogue and a barbarian, with the impaled core of a supernatural tyrant onto a familiar sickle.
"Where was the wizard?" groaned a child.
Torus buckled precipitously the cinematic display onto itself, slithering carefully the filmic gravel back into his waterskin. The elder grinned loose and laughed capaciously, flashing once again his pirate namesake on his witty glossal muscle.
"Well, my dear, that’s for another time."
This story was brought to life by Minor Illusion, Mold Earth, and Shape Water. In that respective order.
In the permeating, albeit unsettled calm after the assault on the door, the men of the keep having thrown in their lot in full to great effect, there came about a particular sense of relief at the success; however small their victory was, at least now the enemy at the literal and figurative gates had no easy path and would need fight for any inch once more.
Exhaling with a breath of earned relief, the dusty, still blood tinged air filled the outsider's lungs again when he drew it back in. Brannor eased his shoulder from its place of pressure as a swathe of guardsmen rushed in to meet the gap he relinquished, fortifying with haste they hadn't displayed earlier. Perhaps the threat being so close to home struck them with chords of energy they originally did not know they had; all the same, mere moments later and they too were heaving dry breaths, a few leaned against the stone of the keep's walls, soaked to the bone by their own sweat. A series of metallic groans then echoed throughout the halls as chimes to this endeavor's end, the last few bars slid fully fixed into place.
The dwarf was long on his way out now, waving aside the men still working while speaking authoritatively, followed closely only by some sort of mage who had made a sudden appearance. Brannor never bothered to ask who he was or what he did - it was more a surprise the man showed at all to begin with, disappearing only as the castellan dismissed him. The deeds needed done were over now, thankfully. The only other matter the man set himself to before the collective saw themselves out was the retrieval of his rope and an odd exchange with a guard who witnessed the entire thing. Reasonably so, the man had never likely seen such a thing as binding a prisoner like some sort of wild animal, let alone the enormous human responsible for doing so.
He quietly followed without further comment thereafter, allowing the dwarf to take lead as he did with each determined step. Escobert's voice almost booming while he spoke, he addressed the four next after, having led them a ways back into the heart of Greenest's defense.
"Well 'en, I would recommend ya get sum rest now too. I'll need ta get tha report as to how dem nasties actually got in in tha first place. I trust we'll see each other soon enough."
A small, huddled crowd garnered the hunter's attention after the man said what it was he had. Not far down the way from the port in an alcove, several of the gathered faces quite familiar as the children they knew earlier in the night and another, far more elderly one he was unknown to. There existed a brief exchange of glances between the two, the man's old stare seeming to see into him and the others that stood before Escobert, before returning to his tale with a laugh at behest of a child.
It was an unusual sensation initially, but soon proved more understood as the elder worked some form of magic to elaborate on his story to be told. At this distance, regularly the man in dim candle light might not have been understood, but Brannor's keenness of ear lent him some success.
"... Then. The messy tomb began to err crimson, thrashing to a regular rhythm, then abruptly a lanky, springing fountain was ejected. Atop the tachycardic spout, stood on a vessel, two adventurers remained with the skewered deity’s still-beating heart."
The children and the elder continued in turn after, but it seemed there was not more to be told, at least not now and it was at this point Brannor gave his acknowledging nod to the appointed master of the keep and its management.
Soil surrounded his toes. The balls of feet sank in to the ground. Ramando was unprepared for such an assault. He daren't move or shift in the case he'd lose any of the footing he did have. The slab of gate against his shoulder pressed hard against him. His arm locked in a position that disallowed any extra leverage. The pads of his fingers pressed hard against the wood and metal, threatening to break the nails at the ends. He used his head as an extra surface to force back the attackers. Blood began to slip past his brow, the pressure forcing skin to show flesh. Then, there was some kind of release, and he almost fell forward. He used this opportunity to slam against the gate in a better formation with the other men and attempt to walk forward. Slowly, the creatures relented and then humans and dwarfs were, ultimately, victorious. Ramando remained against the gate, both hands flat on its surface and holding him up at an angle from the door as he collected himself. The panic from the surprise attempted ambush made him falter, and this was unacceptable. There was still much he had to learn.
Released to rest for a bit until they were called upon, Ramando decided to inform his Brothers of what he would be involved with. The gatherings of children and story-tellers were overlooked, his determination to his cloister more important to him. He prayed Master Leosin was safe. And for Brother Waladra's leg to be healed. His body raced past nurses and the injured as he ascended the main staircase of the Keep. The blood over his face and smudged over his hands was of little concern. When he reached the infirmary, he dunked his hands into a pail of clean water to clean off the blood from his knuckles and his face. He, then, took a roll of wrappings and pressed them against his head to stop any bleeding, if there was to be more. "Brother Dreel," Ramando bellowed as if commanding the boy's attention." How is Brother Waladra?" The boy turned, startled by the crashing bass of the man's voice echoing off the rounded walls of the room. He immediately stood, shocked to see Brother Brightwood seemingly injured instead of cleaned. "Brother..." "I'm going to go rest," Ramando interrupted, deciding there was no time for idle talk during a time of war into which he flung himself. "Get me if the Castellan comes," he demanded. His sizable figure raced across the infirmary floor, swerving past nurses and injured soldiers all the same with a swiftness and grace uncharacteristic for one such a size. He slammed his feet up the stairs, lacking any kind of stealth he attempted earlier that day. His focus was resting as best he could, meditate as deep he could.
Orchid slumped onto the ground, fairly tired and exhausted. That was a bit too much panicking so shortly after he dropped his rage. For brief moments he can be as furious as a storm, but afterwards he wouldn't even be able to make a single breeze. Still he didn't just lay there on the floor, or at least he shouldn't do that here. Instead he picked up his things and left the sallyport, to return to his spot near the bonfire. Once he arrived Orchid had all these plans to make use of this hide, to take out his tools and really start getting it treated so he could use it on his shield. But he was far too tired to accomplish such a delicate task right now, and instead just fell back onto the floor, tired. In the distance he could hear some old man giving a story, but from such a distance and with so much being said Orchid didn't know what he was talking about, and honestly didn't really care. He was tired.
Orchid didn't sleep persay, but he did begin to day dream. His thoughts drifted from what happened today to things of the past. Sweet memories of his upbringing and training, about how and why he left home in the first place...
(The any dialog in the following flashback is implied to have been spoken entirely in elvish, translated into common for your convenience.)
A small, scrawny child sat underneath a tree in the rain. For all the help that did, as he was still being pelted by rain drops. He had his knees raised up to his face, trying to keep warm and hide his feelings, even though he was alone. The pattering of the rain hide the quiet sobbing of the child, who could only mumble a proverb to himself. "All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain..." At this point the child's eyes were puffy, but no longer crying. It would seem that he had shed all the tears he'd have for today. It was cold, but he felt numb. It wasn't until a rather... Strange looking elf approached him. She was almost like a nymph, as her garb was made of fibers and leaves woven together in such a way that it looked natural. She was easy on the eyes and her figure would easily entice mortal men. She was, of course, no nature spirit. Merely an elf who had the fortune of a fine body. Yet despite her presence, the child did not notice her.
She knelt down to the child, offering him a handful of edible nuts. "Hello, child of the green. In honor of your dedication, I bring you a bounty from nature!" The child just looked at the elf, somewhat concerned, but mostly apathetic. He did not seem to react beyond looking at her, and continued to sulk in silence. Shaking the nuts the elf spoke again. "Well?" The child sighed, looking at the nuts but not reaching out or changing his position. "I dunno you. I dunno what a child of green is." The elf proceeded to dump the handful of nuts into the child's lap, and while he had no interest initially he was able to gather most of them up before they hit the ground. "Perhaps you didn’t notice, but I am a Elf. We are never wrong. Our infinite wisdom proved it over a thousand years ago." "Look, I'm telling you I- Wait. You're that elf from before, aren't you? The one I met a couple days ago? Didn't the bridge collapse on you?" It was then that the elf started bobbing up and down, allowing the small child to see that the elf had no feet, and instead had a ghostly tail, and only a humanoid body from the waist up. "I am incorporeal." The child nodded his head before shaking it as he realized something. "But that bridge had to be magical, it was made from a single tree branch." Sighing, the child just looked back down into the nuts in his hands, realizing that this was a pointless conversation. "Why are you here? Why are you looking for me?"
The ghost suddenly opened her arms and looked into the sky. For a moment the child though she was about to cast a spell. "Because I'm bored! I am a guardian spirit with nothing to guardian! I risk becoming nothing more than a common poltergeist wallowing in regrets and introspection and other terrible things. Thus, I have sought out an experienced adventurer who can regale me with his tales of actual competence and slow my descent into all-consuming ghost-insanity." The child sighed again, dropping the nuts onto the floor and clutching his knees to his body once more. "Then you, really, really, really got the wrong person. I'm just a kid. Not an adventurer..."
For a long while there was nothing but the sound of rainfall between the child and the elf ghost. Eventually the elf broke that silence with questions. "So, you are in the rain! Most people don’t sit out in the rain. What show of untold badassery drives you to do it?" Almost immediately the child responded. "I'm waiting for the day to end." The elf smiled as if she understood and perked up. "Yeah, using spell-like abilities are a pain like that. One time I tried to do my magic sanctuary thing twice in the same day and it broke my legs. What’s recharging for you?" The child looked up at the elf with a mixture of confusion and concern. "I'm not recharging anything, I'm just..." Sighing once more, the child hugged his legs closely and started to speak.
"I don’t know what to do anymore. When I first came here to be a hunter, I was on a quest, I believed in myself, and I thought I knew what I needed to do. I had this friend who kept telling me I could do anything I put my mind to, and I felt good because I really believed him. But after I got here, everything just went wrong. I couldn’t make make any traps, I couldn’t forage for any supplies from nature, and I would have gotten myself drowned trying if a witch didn’t save me because she wanted to my hair. But the whole time I just kept myself together by telling myself it was just a couple of accidents and everything was going to be okay once I found the Hunter's Clan and started learning how to hunt like I always wanted. And I was so stupid that blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah that I didn’t even realize that they were using me and blah blah robbed me and threw me out in the forest naked. I blah blah blah but when even that didn’t work, I felt terrible, but blah blah blah blah blah feelings blah but it didn’t help any. Then blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah even though yesterday she seemed like blah blah blah blah blah I didn’t blah blah blah blah blah feelings feelings blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah use me to blah blah blah blah blah blah. Everything I do is bad so now I guess I’m just waiting for my friends to show up again so I can go back home and I can at least trying something else, even though blah blah blah blah feelings introspection blah blah blah words words words.”
With a breath of relief Parum looked around as everyone shuffled about. There was a tension in the air unrelated to their enemy outside. Parum worried about her party's relationship with the castellan and by extension the forces of this castle. She understood that in a way it is the castle who are imposing on them, and there should be some respect given to the party of adventurers. But these are desperate times and during times like these little luxuries like formality and politeness tends to go. One of the reasons why Parum was a bit nervous getting into these sort of situations, but she must continue to be brave. But at the same time she must maintain some level of professionalism and confidence as well; if she starts raising her voice and insults the very people helping her, they would be a house divided. Kobolds and their allies would end up the least of their worries.
Everyone cleared out of the sallyport and went to rest up. Parum thought to do the same but her body was simply too tense. So much fighting, so much violence, and the very present danger of a dragon was looming literally over their heads. What would the party do now? Supposedly they were going to use the sallyport to get out or clear a way, but that path has been compromised. How long could they stay and defend this fortress? Parum didn't want to find out. As she wandered around Parum eventually gave up on trying to relax, and felt like she needed to do something. Anything.
And of course being a bard, there was only one thing Parum could do: Preform. Taking out viol and rapier, Parum went to found a quiet, somewhat isolated location. No where too far where she couldn't call for help if she was in danger, but out of the way so if anything happens she wouldn't interfere. Once she was sure she was in a good spot, Parum played a few notes on her viol, tuned it, and played a song. She could imagine the accompaniment of other instruments as she played alone in this room, memories of her time at the bard college bringing a bit of levity in this dark hour.
Before Ramando had had the time to go away, he could hear a familiar voice: "I am fine, and you would do well to stop worrying about me so much." It was Brother Waladra responding to their earlier question. The monk had found himself a place to sit comfortably on, with a seat seemingly built from discarded rags and some clothes from other monks. "It is not broken, so I'll be up again by tomorrow. But I've heard that you have joined an effort to help the citizens. Just like Brother Leosin would have wanted", he continued as he shifted his injured leg on his seat.
"So indeed, rest now so that you can help them later. They need all they can have. We'll begin the more extensive search tomorrow if we have not found him by then, or at least that is what we've discussed while you were down there", he relayed the rest of his knowledge to the shining example of selflessness Brother Brightwood was in his eyes. Having said what he had to say, he leaned back and closed his eyes, muttering: "I should do the same..."
For the next hour or two, nothing that remarkable happened. A few souls sought the music they could hear coming from somewhere nearby and a few even found the source, but none dared bother the bard. Orchid and Ramando had their naps, the storyteller and the human warrior did what they thought was best. The peace was broken eventually by the biggest uproar they had heard within the keep thus far. The message was travelling from one man to another and eventually it reached all of our heroes: The dragon had chosen to attack and all able bodies were expected to report on the battlements. NOW.
As the green child rambled on, the ghostly elf noticed a bag near by. She shifted through it finding a thick book titled "The Common Man's Dictionary". Everything written inside of it was in common, which would explain why many pages were missing and there were unsightly stains on a few of them. Evidently this child wasn't using the book for late night reading. Flipping through the pages the elf eventually landed on the page with the word "Guardian" on it. Apparently guardians were those who gave aid and advice to their charge, which was news to the elf.
"Ah ogre patties. That apparently is something guardians do! Well can't say I've ever done something like that before, but I'm an elf. And elves are the best at everything!"
The ghost eventually floated back to the child, who had noticed she had left and was now quiet. Upon her return the child tried to say something but was quickly shushed by the ghost. "Ut! Silence, I’m about to guardian at you." Floating next to the child the ghost sat down. Or at least she would have tried, if she had legs. Instead she just sort of... Floated half way into the ground. Then she put a reassuring hand on the young boy's shoulder, however once more she was reminded that she was incorporeal and her hand phased through his body. It was a strange, frosty feeling.
“From my understanding, your issue is that nothing is turning out like you had hoped.”
“Yeah. I-I get that the-”
“Shut up. That was a rhetorical question.”
“That wasn’t a ques… Nevermind, go on.”
“You see... Mushroom kid... Sometimes life gives you lemons. And when that happens... You need to find a big hammer and crush those lemons into juice, because lemons are terrible. I only ate them once and rest assure they are the worst fruit. If life gave me lemons, I would view it as nothing short of a declaration of war."
The little kid wasn't really sure what the ghostly elf was getting at, and was frankly getting a bit nervous. Regardless of his feelings the ghost continued on with her story. "Let me tell you the story from my homeland called 'The Puny Pebble'. Once upon a time there was this tiny pebble who wanted to fly. It wanted to fly so bad that it just rolling along the ground, looking for ways to fly. If rolled into the river, it rolled off cliffs, and it even rolled into people's shoes. It wanted to fly so bad, it just kept rolling around and around, hoping to find a way to fly."
The ghost seemed to have some point in this story, though frankly the child was just getting cold. He was seriously considering getting out of this rain before he freezes to death, but this ghost seemed pretty intent on telling her story. "And then the Warrior-Singer-God Amora crushed the pebble under his foot as he rushed out of the forest and went to stop the Nar Barbarians. When he arrived he killed all the invaders, blew up their fortress, and burst out from the inferno on a winged unicorn. He turned water into ice as he powerslide off the unicorn and onto his immortal throne just as his ride exploded into pearls and diamonds."
There was no words that could describe the look of utter confusion on the child's face. "That's a bad story."
The ghost simple shrugged her shoulders and huffed. “I expected as much from a child. Of course you can't appreciate the depth and intricacy of elven storytelling. Esssentially, the point of the story is that all that stuff about the rock is stupid, and the tale only gets good once Amora comes and starts blowing things up. The ghost put an arm around the child, only to end up putting on arm through the child and sending a shiver down his spine. "If he didn’t show up, then it would just be about the dumb rock doing the same thing again and again until it either worked or it died – and that would be a terrible moral to teach kids. But Amora does cool and exciting things, the story has become a classic piece of folklore printed in children’s books for generations."
Standing up for once the child stepped away from the ghost, mostly because being near her made the kid very, very cold. "Yeah, alright, but... What if we're more like the pebble? That we want to really, really, want to do something, but every time we try we just... Don't? I mean... What if I never do anything with my life? What if I'm really just food for the strong? I came here to be someone special, or at least useful, but I can't do anything right. I couldn't catch fish, I couldn't pick mushrooms, I wasn't able to break some rocks, and I couldn't even find that goat for-"
It was at this point that the ghost also stood (Or floated) up and put her hands in front of the child to stop him. "Whoa whoa whoa. Whoa. Wait a moment dirt bag. You're fishing, foraging, and looking for wild animals?"
"I was... Yeah?"
"“You are an barbarian, like I was! I saw you take that boulder back in that bridge! The stars made you a rage-powered, face-smashing, avatar of chaos! Surely you'd consider becoming a Totem Warrior like I was."
The child looked at the ghost with continued confusion and concern. "... A Totem Warrior?" The ghost looked utterly ecstatic and tried to lift the child up, only for her hands to once more phase through his body and instead throw some rain drops into the air. Somehow. “You know: a warrior who specializes in harnessing the beast inside. Bears, eagles, wolves, that sort of thing. The weird shit normal people can’t do. You’re built for it.”
Sighing, the child had just about enough of this weirdo. He went over to his bag, put the dictionary back inside, and put the soggy rucksack back on his back. "Look, that's.... Neat, but it's impossible. I’m not a warrior, or some animal spirit, or anything like that. Sorry, but... I’m nothing special. I’m just a wet, homeless, weak nobody out in the rain because he has nowhere else to go."
As the child walked away, the ghost smiled as magic crackled in her hands. "Oh, but I can fix that..."
Suddenly Orchid woke up. He heard the muffled apologizes of one of the soldiers who had accidentally bumped into the orc. Sitting up with a yawn Orchid looked around and noticed that a lot of people were starting to move about. Something must have happened. Then again if it was important they would have gotten him. No matter, he had a nice nap. He vaguely remembered that he was dreaming about the past, but those memories quickly faded when he looked down at his shield. It had a distinct lack of dragon hide on it. Taking out his tools Orchid was going to fix that problem.
Sometime into the night when there was a massive uproar. Orchid heard the shouting before he heard the message, but it was clear enough: The dragon was attacking. A wide smile broke out on Orchid's face. "Finally." Orchid hefted his new shield: it was round like his old one, but with the dragon's hide stretched across it's front. Orchid had no idea what the protective qualities of a drake was, but even if it offered no meaningful protection it at least looked awesome. The dragon's head was the center piece, and using some of it's spines and bones to add some awesome looking spikes on the edges. Truly if nothing else, this shield was a work of art.
Aside from admiring his handiwork, it was time to fight. No doubt that the dragon would be too cowardly to try and land on the rampart itself, though if it did it'd just make Orchid's work easier. So instead of going out with his machete in hand, Orchid had his harpoon instead. He also tired rope to it so that way when the harpoon sunk into the dragon's hide, he could climb up to the dragon while it flew and he could kill it in the skies. Maybe not a smart idea, but this was how a Totem Warrior thinks. And this was how a Totem Warrior fights.
The ganglion of youngsters were already paring away from the myth-weaving druid, to the fruitful friction of the Halfling's viol, a melodious solo of Bhusundan intimacy. Her comforting music etched harmony into the humid void, soothing the tumor of adolescents. About-facing, the hereditary prospects of Linan and Cuth were the last to creep to Parum, also coveting ontological reassurance of a guaranteed future beyond this dark faction, leaving the elder, alone with his overbearing, disillusioned tree. Torus likewise suffered from this capriciousness of youth, many decades ago. His fickle admiration crumbled progressively as he became more and more accustomed to the frivolity of pirated wares, sluggishly reaching a nirvana of exhausted mercantilism.
“Scurry to the edge of the song, little ones. Forget not that the earth delights to caress your bare feet and the breeze yearns to play with your hair.” The wrinkled glee mirroring his Cheshire smirk, beaming from earring to earring.
Torus longed, too, for enlightened companionship, but was paradoxically vexed with Xaron’s perpetual presence. She was largely the schismatic source of his mental prowess as well as his impending hamartia, a silent vow between souls, simultaneously, spiritually, feeding and starving one another. It remained an incessant mental mutiny, a seed of discontent sprouting into a garroting vine. The murmuring tendrils ostracized him from any lasting camaraderie, lest his greatest fear be realized. That one day, Xaron’s intermittent insurgences would invariably overwhelm the throne of his paranoid psyche, transforming his ego into a demesne of greed and lust, lapsing into a graveyard spiral of depravity.
However, prayer and magic always seemed to quell the malignancy of his divided mind.
The rowdy emotions were disturbed by his programmed sleeve searching for a book encased in peppered Minotaur hide. His pursed lips hummed along, often missing the time and tune of the kender’s, as he flipped through the labyrinth of pages, inked almost entirely in sylvan script. Over the years, he was able to intuitively decipher only one spell.
An acquainted ritual of mystical rapport.
Herbs, incense and a brass brazier quickly gathered underneath a flint, fire steel and tinder ebbed in light oil. A cacophony of sparks spurred; Torus muttered as he rose and waved the pillars of smoke into a pulsating helix with his baton, conducting a makeshift orchestra of Apollyon prophecy. His musings wondered despite the emanating words and painted motions, subconsciously converging on Oghma and the tragedy of his whispering children, while the bard’s composition irked into his supplication.
Soon, the familiar became manifest.
An ashen raven ejected into the smolder. Mimicking an oracle, the druid breathed the Coronis fumes and subsequently wept tears of soot, to the living icon of Huginn and Muninn, fatefully mingling memory with thought. His glare became mesmerized by the Mórríganian crow, hovering backwards atop his silver staff.
Time stood still. It cackled at the golden-eyed warrior, “They will find you.”
The chill down the senior’s decrepit vertebral column was interrupted by an uproar amongst men and fowl alike. Its fretful screeching vacillated to match the fearful message of the dragon’s strike, signified by the glow and crash on the battlements.
No longer equivocating, the druid leaning heavily on the alcove’s left-sided partition, preached to the champion of the Ferine. “To gaze back upon one’s days in satisfaction is to live twice.” He tossed a plumed goodberry to the bird, a final Śrāddha before allowing the smut to encroach his sclera, gurgling into cobbled cataracts. Torus closed the puzzling tome of Elvish calligraphy in anticipation; his irises were shortly enveloped by the skulking slime, the cosmic eyelids shortly shutting the gaps to his tainted consciousness only to erect telepathically as earnest pupils above a grinding beak.
The white-fanged cane glimmered as wings fluttered against the current of fleeing families, to the nearest parapet, hooting at the hopeful paladin, “Quickly now. We must not tarry!”
During intermission: Find Familiar was cast. Spell Slots left 1/2.
After the break: As a bonus action, Shillelagh was cast. As an action, Torus chooses to see/hear through the raven and fly (50 feet) to the keep’s barricade, as reconnaissance.
His eyes appear not closed but darkened, as if by heavy mascara, as he rests on one of the walls, relying on the glowing staff for support, while pocketing the spell book with his other hand.
The tranquil interlude was not long, perhaps no more than an hour's passage or so, before the fierce cry of the invaders' most notable power shook the very foundation of the keep. The stones wished to shudder from its booming echo, one that carried through every hall and every room, dulled only by distance. This did little to change the hackles it raised upon all ears that heard it. It seemed no longer content to be ignored or harassed by the defiants below it, the same that had been rebuking its armies by huddling ever tighter; there existed almost no doubt in the minds of the many that had sealed the port off again that their enemy had spread knowledge of their failure to take the citadel from within. What chances were it that only now the dragon sought to throw its lot in so directly?
In the time before this outcome, over the course of that same hour prior, the aspirant of the divine world untamed had been content to rest himself in a number of elements of his person; the soothing of song and the crackle of calm flames, it was enough to draw off his mind for what it could. Brannor's visual observations during this were no less distracted in the faint swirl of smoke, keeping a sense of amused watchfulness as the stranger cast a number of reagents into the fire and poured over a book full of writings - ones the warden recognized in word from time to time, but not in meaning. Certainly no common script by any standard, it was unusual with their familiarity to him and how the slender, greyed finger of the man traced the yellowed pages in his readings. From all these efforts combined, a sooted raven arose to its master's beck and joined the company as it fluttered to life.
Were it not for his conscious between the waking and dreaming worlds, Brannor might have had more comprehension, but it was at this point all information had become blurred together in one figurative stroke. Its winding stream of actual and imagined mysticisms was broken by words, ones that were unalike all else that had transpired. Different in their pointedness and unsettling omen.
Reality, or so what it appeared now to be, returned with the recoil of all things present.
At ready the man had returned to his leathered feet, brandishing the great blade that had rested idly across his lap before the haze lifted completely. Despite its heft and weight, the way it hung in but one hand spoke volumes about its bearer and the identity the two shared together. Realization setting in that against a dragon that could take to wing, let alone breath fire or some other terrible force, the sword was the lesser of his two options. It was in response to this Brannor quickly slung the weapon and drew up his tarnished bow in its stead and rested a knocked arrow between his gloves' fingers.
His bestial eyes pierced the dim and cloudy, incense laden air, scouring only to confirm to him what his mind well knew as they looked over all those present; that the keep outside was under siege at last, the threat there rather than here.
“To gaze back upon one’s days in satisfaction is to live twice.” The old man huddling himself spoke first before sending out his servant, urging both on their way to retaliate in their own fashion; a trance falling upon him after, continuing in word as the bird in place of the man, “Quickly now. We must not tarry!”
There would be time later for questioning and reflection on what all had just transpired, but all the huntsman could do was call out for the halfling as they started down the halls, avoiding the few escaping figures that rushed past and into any room that would welcome them, "Parum, with me!"
Undoubtedly the rest of the cadre were elsewhere, not far Brannor hoped. There were many things the predator within him could kill, but a dragon was no minor contender.
Parum was writing down the events of this day in her journal when she heard the alarms. There must have been a large force approaching, or perhaps even the dragon itself, for this much of a ruckus. It wasn't long before Brannor arrived to fetch Parum herself. "After you." Parum quickly slipped the book back into her backpack and followed Brannor towards the battlement. There she was met with some of the others, the only one currently missing was Ramado, who Parum was certain would be here soon. Sure enough her fears were well founded: The dragon was on it's way to attack. While flying by and spraying it's dragon's breath over the battlements and castle walls was the most obvious action, Parum had to keep wary of any other possibilities. Sieges weapons, sappers, even an attack from the skies itself. She took her viol and rapier out, ready for battle, whatever that would be.
"Do you have any plans on how we can take that thing down? I'm going to guess it won't land close enough for our blades or arrows to strike it."
The sounds of soldiers shouting caught Kyra's attention. She had been working in the clinic trying her best to help the wounded and injured she had no time to fight. It wasn't an easy choice for her to make: on one hand she wanted to defend her village from these evil creatures. On the other hand, her skills were needed for treating the wounded. But once she heard that the dragon itself was making an attempt to attack the castle, Kyra knew she couldn't just stay here. If that dragon manages to break through the gates, it's all over for everyone. She needed to stop that dragon before everyone could get a chance to recover. So Kyra went and grabbed her weapons and armor. She donned her simple leather armor, better to block against briers and thorns than blades or arrows. But it was all she had. Fortunately her weapons were a better quality: her father's hunting bow and his shortsword. They may seem simple, but they could kill a deer or a soldier equally well. And today they may even slay a dragon.
Kyra ran straight towards the battlement and along the way she ran into the group of strangers who had arrived to the castle fortress earlier. Kyra saw them speaking to the mayor when she brought water to the guards on duty, but had no time to speak to them. It looked like they were ready to fight as well. Kyra was a bit nervous approaching them; they didn't look anything like the other townsfolk. For starters one was an orc, or maybe a half-orc, which Kyra has never seen before. The halfling had bright blue hair, which was very odd to Kyra. There was another warrior and something seemed... Odd about him. Almost fey like. And then there was the old man, who simply had the air of an aged wizard. Kyra didn't remember if he was part of the group or not, but she did know he was an outsider as well. Certainly a motley crew.
She heard the halfling ask what the plan was and Kyra had one in mind. "This fortress has withstood against the dragon's breath already. If we simply take cover it'll have to try to break through with it's claws and fangs. It's dangerous, but that would be our best time to strike, I think." Kyra spoke up as she approached the group. She felt like that unlike the rest of the guards here, these people were more willing to go out of their way and face this threat head on, instead of hiding inside these walls for their doom. "My name is Kyra Shepard, a humble priestess of Chauntea. I can't say I know how we can slay this dragon, but if we work together I know we can defeat it." Kyra gripped her bow tightly to reassure herself.
The gang was all here, and it looked like some others had joined as well. And old man and some farm girl by the name of Kyra. Orchid didn't know how well she'd fight but if she was going to fight then good for her. Parum wanted to know how they were going to fight this dragon, and Orchid made his intentions clear. "Dragon come to us! We hide, Dragon no come. We stay, dragon come and try eat us. Dragon pride. Then Orchid throw spear at dragon, climb dragon, and stab dragon in eye!" Hence why Orchid had his harpoon instead of his blade out. He drummed the side of his new drake hide shield with pride.
"Dragon see, dragon angry, and dragon fight me! You fight dragon too! Magic words and arrows and swords." Orchid motioned to Parum. He didn't quite understand how Vicious Mockery worked, but it was doing something so he had no complaints. Though there was one thing Orchid made sure to mention. "Hgn. Dragon have army. Fight them too. Little dragon men sneaky like hunters. May also have bigger dragon like before, and bad guys. Be careful." That being said Orchid still intended to focus entirely on the dragon itself. He figured that if they defeated the dragon, it would crush the morale of the kobolds, and possibly even route the enemy forces. Wishful thinking perhaps, but Orchid was dead set on his plan.
Brannor found the company of the others at the ready, only one amiss at the moment but he assumed the other man was well on his way - how such an attack on the keep directly could go unnoticed the aspirant of the Silver Lady could not even wrestle with in though, especially not now - but they found themselves fortunate to have another addition in his momentary absence. She introduced herself hurriedly almost a breath after the halfling with sword and instrument drawn, posed the obvious and reasonable question of just what all they intended to do.
There was a number of things the sanctified warrior had tracked, hunted, pursued and ultimately slain, even in foul weather or raging violence but none of which were a dragon, let alone draconic in slight until this night. However, there was one thing he knew well about dragons that he did not doubt and that was the most awesome part of the beast was its legendary ability to breath gouts of flame... or worse. Fire by comparison was tame, but he had heard word that there were other things such as freezing fog or even lightning some of them could spout. It was enough that as his hand held the arrow knocked against the bow, intensely listening to the others whilst he kept to the stone's cover, he offered really nothing more than emphasizing that fact. It was the most concerning, after all, at least to him given his earlier brush with death in the night.
He would rather face a siege of kobolds, as at least those tiny scaled fodder could be fought on conventional terms. Even their human allies were a superior choice at that.
Orchid's plan, as lunatic as it was, at least had some merit to it in the fact that if anyone stood a chance at harpooning the leviathan at all, the green skinned man clothed in next to nothing was their most likely candidate. As for climbing and mounting the thing to fight it on its own aerial terms, that Brannor could barely entertain in fantasy, but it wasn't his business. Keeping the defenders spread apart was; the keep acted both for and against them, after all. It blessed them with cover but confined them in ways the airborne dragon could undoubtedly witness and act on by raining hell down upon them from high. If wise, it might just repeat such a process of attrition until its minions could finish the work for it.
Shaking his head and exhaling with a subtle snarl to his tone, he returned his attention to his company, looking back to them in brief and removing his tremendous hand from the fletching that surrounded the arrow upon the string.
"Do what you will against it to drive the cursed monster off or kill it outright, but avoid congregating. If any of its company are fool enough to take the ramparts, I will deal with them."
He did not wait for a reaction, pivoting back to the front again with a sway of his forest cloak and lightly drawing upon the arrow, scanning the skies not far beyond where he stood concealed and being ever more cautious not to silhouette himself before the open door. Again, while the gloom of night and the eerie haze of smoke and dim glow of distant flames made it difficult to see, Brannor had to trust his other senses not to fail him. They were keen, refined things - as was his sight that pierced the darkness - but the dragon was certainly no idle enemy, especially not he took it while it was on the attack.
Rolled a 11 for Perception to attempt to see the location of the dragon. Passive Perception of 13 is higher. Rolled a 16 for Perception as advantage if the dragon's location can be better discerned by sound.
The raven that acted as Torus' eyes and the human warrior that went by the name Brannor were the first eyes of the group on the battlements. While the raven had been around for some time and marked where the dragon was moving, it had missed the initial swoop that caused the current uproar. Both it and the warrior raised up just in time to see the second approach of the awe inspiring force of nature as the dragon dived down for the second time.
From the smoke, like a swift bolt, the dragon descended sharply towards the keep, first appearing black but soon the fire illuminated it's shining scales. It wasn't black, there definitely was some colour to it. The colour of light from the fire made it tough to tell outright, but soon cold white light shone upon the creature's horrifying, almost skeletal visage. Crackling bolts of this white energy surged both between it's teeth and outward from the creature's maw and lighted up the skin the was tightly wrapped on the dragon's skull. The scales illuminated by this light were clearly blue.
The much larger than anticipated creature reached the turning point of it's descend just as the rest of the group arrived onto the roof to behold the sheer size of their opposition. Some, if not most of them had seen it flying around earlier, but only now they realised just how large it was. There was no questioning it... this thing was most definitely an adult. It let loose it's breath on the other side of the keep, visibly evaporating some of the good men and leaving a few charred or missing limbs. As the cries of those people barely made themselves audible through the beating of the dragon's wings as it began to ascend again, primal fear rushed over our champions. What kind of a chance would they have against something like this?
I would like to request everyone to roll a WIS saving throw against the dragon's Fearful Presence. On a failure (under 17), your character will become FRIGHTENED (PHB, Appendix A, page 290) for 1 minute. The saving throw can be repeated on the end of each of your turns, ending the effect on a success. I do believe it will be for the best to roll Initiative too. The dragon is currently in the air approximately 80ft. away from your current location.
The cracking sound of wings hit Orchid's ears. He turned and looked just in a flash, the dragon had descended and scorched the battlement with thunder and lightning. Was this dragon not a green one when they first saw it? Though in this light, it also appeared somewhat blackish blue. The sight of dead men and the stench of death was thick in the air. It was a frightening image. But Orchid did not falter. Never has he fought a beast of this strength before, but neither shall he fear it. Certainly, it was dangerous. No doubt that it can and shall kill Orchid with relative ease. But that didn't mean it was unstoppable. The half-orc gripped his weapon tightly and looked to the others. This may be the last time they see each other.
With their memories burned into his mind, Orchid charged forth and readied his harpoon. It was high in the air, so Orchid would have to rely on a throw instead of a jump. But once he went as far as he could, he waited and readied. Once he was certain the dragon was close, he would throw his weapon with as much force as he can, so that he could climb the rope and subsequently the beast itself.
It was not as though Orchid knew no fear. But in the face of such foes, if the heroes run, who will stay and fight? Orchid did not want to die. There was no honor or glory in death. But if he fled now, he would simply die a coward. Orchid faced this dragon knowing that there was no guarantee he would leave, and that defeat was a possibility. He wasn't such a fool to believe otherwise. But he would remain and fight regardless. Because that is what a Totem Warrior does.
"WAAAAAAARGH!"
Health: 12/14 Rage: 1/2 Status: Readied to throw his Harpoon when the dragon is within throwing range (30 feet of Orchid)
Awesome power demonstrated as it effortlessly eliminated some number of the guard in a sweep of its crackling breath, the hesitation that it left in wake surely would cripple their combined revenge against the leviathan. It was enough in truth to give Brannor pause at the sight and the recall he was quite right not all dragons did breathe fire, the man having delayed for what felt like a prolonged moment as a result, until of course the orc charged through the doorway and headlong across the rampart with javelin readied. The savage roared as he did before, filled with as much conviction and apparent madness as ever.
The scene Orchid evoked shook off the immediate disorientation his human compatriot displayed and the man too then stepped from his cover behind the door and into its center where he set his sights upon the great target; the bow's string drawn far back and the unsteady arrow quivering in a rush of adrenaline and uncertainty. It then loosed not a thought later and sailed across the darkness of the night like a pointed vessel and presumably into the scaled blue fiend before it could see itself away from the walls.
What questions raced through Brannor's mind as he stepped back into his cover and away from the doorway, were perhaps the most obvious to him. Would arrows even do them any good against a dragon? It was one thing to bury the pointed head of a bolt into a man's chest, armor or not, but dragons were made up of scales - assumedly magic ones at that. There had to have been a reason these monsters were so legendarily difficult to kill with force after all. However, the man chose to collect himself in spirit rather than run further rampant on speculation that undoubtedly was weakening his focus.
Exhaling some as he drew the next arrow from his quiver, fitting it swiftly between his fingers, he prayed a quiet mouthing plea that Selûne would be merciful and guide the shots to whatever chinks in its defense existed.
Rolled a 22 and then an 18 due to disadvantage hit the dragon with a longbow attack. Rolled a 5 for piercing damage if the arrow hits. Rolled a 6 on Wisdom saving throw to overcome Frightful Presence. Ability checks and attack rolls are at disadvantage.
